Stuffed Read Free Page A

that’s the word.”
    â€œHow long has this been going on?”
    â€œOfficially about two weeks,” I said, although I wanted to say “way too long.”
    â€œFunny, I can’t picture the two of them together,” my father said.
    â€œMe neither,” my mother agreed.
    I could see their point. I’d actually seen the two of them together and still couldn’t picture it.
    â€œI always thought Julia would end up with you,” my mother said.
    â€œMe?” I exclaimed.
    â€œYeah, I thought the same thing,” my father agreed.
    â€œBut Julia and I do nothing but fight!” I argued.
    â€œSounds like your mother and me,” my father said with a chuckle.
    â€œI had visions of someday changing the name of the firm from Cheevers and Cheevers to Cheevers and Cheevers and Cheevers and Cheevers and Cheevers.”
    I shook my head. “Could we just go back to arguing legal issues?”
    They both laughed.
    â€œNothing wrong with a little healthy debate,” my father said.
    â€œTell that to Mr. Phillips,” I muttered.
    â€œHealthy debate stopped when you swore at him,” my mother said firmly.
    â€œIf either of us had said to a judge what you said to your teacher, we’d be jailed for contempt of court,” my father said.
    â€œWhat would you have said to a judge who was so clearly wrong?” I asked.
    â€œI’d politely point out his error,” my father answered.
    â€œAnd if he didn’t listen?”
    â€œWell…”
    â€œHe wouldn’t have sworn at the judge,” my mother said. “Your father would have appealed the judge’s error.”
    â€œThat was my problem. Nobody to appeal to.”
    â€œYour principal explained that you could have spoken to her to try to correct the situation,” my father said.
    â€œMy principal is a bigger idiot than Phillips!”
    â€œThis discussion is getting us nowhere. How about since I’m washing and your father is drying that you put things away?”
    â€œHow about if I finish my homework first?”
    â€œI guess that makes sense. The witness is excused.”

Chapter Four
    I went downstairs to my room. I’d recently changed rooms—from upstairs, where all the other bedrooms were, to a room in the basement that used to be a guest bedroom. I opened the door a few inches. It wouldn’t open much more than that because of all the stuff on the floor. I squeezed through the gap and then closed the door tightly after me.
    Every piece of clothing I owned was spread out across the floor. The only exceptions werea suit I wore for weddings and funerals, which was hanging in the closet, and a laundry basket that had some newly washed, clean clothes. The basket sat at the end of my bed.
    To the uninformed observer it would have looked like my room was in complete chaos, as if it had been ransacked and robbed, or a small indoor tornado had swept through. Neither of those was true. There was a system in place. Sweaters, hoodies and long-sleeved shirts were in the far left corner, by the window. T-shirts were in the far right-hand corner. Pants and shorts were in the near corner, by the closet, and socks and underwear occupied the final corner. The four clothing groups then spread out from their respective resting places and met, sort of merging, in the very center of the room. That’s where I stood when I was getting dressed. Everything was within my reach. It was, as I said, a system.
    My mother had other words for it, but we had a deal. It was my room and I could keep it any way I wanted as long as she didn’t have to look at it. That was why the door was closed all the time. Actually I wouldn’t haveminded the door being open to allow cross-ventilation with the window. The place could use an airing out.
    I knew my mother knew the condition of my room. And she knew I knew she knew, but she still hadn’t said a word—at least not yet. It